Suits
by MinttBerrryCrunchhh
Summary: All the same, those suits. Until suddenly, something different caught his eye. Harley/Joker. Oneshot?


**A/N: **Hi, Hello there. This is my thoughts surrounding the beginning of The Dark Knight, where the Joker is standing and waiting for the car to pick him up to take him to the bank. La La La. :D Enjoy.

Also, my Joker is, of course, Heath Ledger's.

And my Harley resembles Brittany Murphy.

RIP Both of the late stars. They were wonderful. D:

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

He stood at the corner of Crainer Ave. and 21st Street.

He held his duffle in one hand, while the other grasped a frowning clown mask. He grinned. _Any minute now._

He checked his watch.

He still had another 15 minutes to go. _Or not._

The Joker decided to pass the time by watching the 'Suits' waddle across the street, briefcases in hand. Some fat. Some tall. Some old. Some young. They were all the same, those suits. They're white-collar, nine to five, boring day-jobs. _Hah._ Checking their watches and racing into the nearest Café. He remembered that.

'Bring-your-son-to-work day' was always a _thrill_. When mom had to pick up the extra shifts at the hospital, dear ol' dad would be forced to take him to the office, one place he loathed more than his own home.

"_Sit down and shut up. We'll be outta here before yah know it. Just…draw on some paper. Hey, make those origany things for yah mom, or whateva. She'd like that." _

"_Origami."_

"_What was that kid? Don't whisper. Talk loud so people'll here yah. Now, stay here and don't move. Gotta pee? Hold it." _

And little Jack would nod, sitting there for hours, staring. _Good ol' dad._

The Joker let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, and shook his head. No need to think about the past. Right now, it was the present. Besides, dad was gone now anyway. _Hah._

He looked up again at the mass of people crossing the streets and crowding the sidewalks, on the rush to get to work. His lip curled. _Ugh._

All the same, those suits.

Until suddenly, something different caught his eye. She was across from him, on the opposite side of the street, walking towards the small huddle of people waiting to cross. Fast paced. Heels clicking. She was no ordinary suit.

Blonde hair set into soft curls. Black pencil skirt to her knees. Cherry red blouse that matched her fire-engine red lipstick. Instead of a briefcase she carried a neat, little folder, clutched under her right arm. She checked her watch.

Then the light changed. She was walking towards him now and he couldn't help but stare at her. He really shouldn't though, due to the paint. Best to keep his head down.

The others passed him. She was a few steps behind them.

When she was finally next to him, he grabbed her left forearm lightly. She let out a small gasp before looking up at him. At the moment he knew she could only see his brown, curly hair. _Good, best to not make her scream just yet._

She looked at him, eyes narrowed. "Can I help you?" The woman snapped.

"Yah sure _can,_ toots," His voice was a low rumble and he felt her pulse quicken.

She tried to see beyond his locks, but he pulled her closer to him and said, "Where yah going?"

"Why the hell would I tell you that? And who the _fuck_ tries to mess with a girl in broad daylight? Who the _fuck_ do you think you are? I'm gonna be late because of your stupid self!" She seethed. "Today I start my job, and I like to make a good first impression if you don't _fucking_ mind!"

He decided now was the time to turn his head to her if he wanted honest answers.

He pulled her even closer, noses almost touching. He saw her eyes widen. She didn't stutter like others would, but she gripped his own forearm tightly. Her pulse quickened even more. _Hah._

"Now _doll,_ lemme ask again. Where are you going?" He spoke, his voice smooth and low.

"To Arkham Asylum," she said. Her tone was still firm, unlike the whisper it should have been. Her cerulean orbs flicked across his face, finally settling on his eyes.

"Is that so? Odd place for a young woman such as you to be," he looked her up and down and raised a brow, "No?"

She shrugged. "Fits me fine…" Her voice was an airy whisper that time, as her eyes drank in his face. She hoped the scars didn't affect her too much.

But he didn't see her falter. Not even another widening of her big eyes. _Huh._

"So does that skirt," he remarked. The Joker smirked as he saw her eyes squint and her pretty mouth turn down.

"_Excuse me_?" She said, voice firm and strong again. She opened her mouth to insult the man, but he beat her to it.

"You got a name, beautiful?" He asked. She didn't blush at the compliment. The woman probably heard that all the time. His hand slid from her forearm to the middle of her waist, gripping her there. She didn't seem to mind.

"Harleen Quinzel," she answered. Their faces were close enough for her nose to brush against his as she spoke.

"Well…_Harleen_…you have a nice day now," He whispered, releasing his hold on her waist.

"You too…" She brushed her lips against his before they separated. She grabbed his hand before walking off.

His eyes followed her down the sidewalk, and she didn't look back.

He noticed something in his hand then. A tiny slip of paper.

_Hmmm._ He opened it to find a number. _Her_ number.

_When did she write that…? _He grinned goofily. _The little minx._ He would _definitely _have to contact that crazy broad. Who the hell gave their number to the Joker?

He shook his head, still grinning like an idiot.

He checked his watch. 30 seconds to go.

He saw a black SUV in the distance.

_They're early._

As it screeched to a stop right in front of him, he slapped the frowning mask over his smiling face and stepped into the vehicle.

* * *

Her heart was racing.

Why the hell she gave him her number, she had _no_ idea.

He was so dangerous, yet so _charming_. She'd always been on the crazy side herself, so why not have a taste of her own kind for a moment? It had been _just _five minutes…she hadn't flirted…much. And the kiss was _barely_ even a kiss, right?

She sighed and checked her watch again, fidgeting with it and biting her lip. Would he contact her? Would he kill her? Abduct her?

Her heels clicked down the stairs leading to the subway.

She stopped those thoughts immediately and sighed.

She shouldn't be thinking those things. Besides, it's her own damn fault. _She_ gave him her number. Not the other way around. For all she was concerned, the man had a right to track her down.

Her heart fluttered at that thought.

Him. Coming into her apartment. At night. Lurking across her bedroom…crawling into her bed.

She shook her head wildly and almost walked into the man in front of her.

Mumbling an apology, she stepped around him and boarded the underground train.

She shouldn't be thinking…_those_ thoughts about a mass-murdering, psychopathic maniac. No matter how handsome he was.

She rested her head against the back of her seat and gave in.

She closed her eyes and pictured him.

He had been _so_ tall, about a head and a half taller than she.

His brown, curly hair. She bet it was soft.

Although, she did wonder why it hadn't been dyed green?

Oh well…she liked it better brown.

His eyes had matched his hair, shining with mirth. And she could tell just from his forearm that underneath his clothes he was gorgeous too.

And that smile? _Oh._ His perfect lips curled into a grin.

That comment about her skirt had bothered her though. She wanted him to look at her face, not her ass. All the others did that. And the Joker was _certainly _not like the others.

His hands had felt warm and calloused. She thought of those hands touching her in all of her most intimate places. She shivered and grinned. Harleen giggled. _One day, maybe…_

And how he smelled? _Mmmm._ Like spice and an old, classy cologne she couldn't place. How she wanted to drown in that scent.

His voice had been the real ticket. Deep and low and smooth. She wanted it sighing her name.

She had been watching him from the beginning. Cheering him on in her head every time he made breaking news. Gotham needed a better class of criminal. Someone that wasn't part of a gang or mob. Someone that wasn't doing it for the money. Someone doing it…just to do it. Because it's _fun._

Now all she needed was a _shrine_ of the man.

She laughed at her thoughts and slid her hand slowly down her face.

She rubbed her temples.

God, she was fucking insane.


End file.
